


Centuries.

by theweakestthing



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, Song Lyrics, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweakestthing/pseuds/theweakestthing





	Centuries.

1\. Coming in unannounced, drag my nails on the tile

Steam rolled out from the almost scalding water that fell from the showerhead, fogged up the walls. Yata's hair stuck to his head, fingers sliding through it easily. The door opened and a body stepped in bringing with it the chill from outside, Fushimi reached over Yata to adjust the height of the showerhead. 

Fushimi bent his arms over Yata's shoulders, wrapping them around the other's chest. Yata shivered at the cool touch of Fushimi's body, but he didn't make to move away. Tired thin lips came to his ear, teeth barely touching skin. 

"Mornin' Misaki," Fushimi said wearily. 

Yata looked up at the other watching the water drenching Fushimi's hair, water splattered on his face from the way he had to turn to see Fushimi's own. 

"Good morning Saru," Yata chimed pecking Fushimi on the lips. 

###### 

2\. I just follow your scent, you can just follow my smile

Fushimi often thought of Yata as a domestic dog. That first time they'd met, Yata had practically bound out of the bushes and stood between him and the bullies growling. As things went on Yata began to follow him around, wide smile like the erratic wagging of a dog's tail. The way Yata was so unyieldingly loyal, for a while it was just how Yata was; that was until his dog found another master, then it just felt sour in his mouth. 

He knew he wasn't any different, knew that he could be much worse. 

Fushimi had chased Yata, had watched Yata and would demand the other's undivided attention. He was worse than a dog with the way he'd let his pride rule over his heart, man's best friend would never be so cruel. Loyalty wasn't something that much concerned Fushimi, but why would it when his vision was so small. He hopelessly thought that maybe his actions would say the things he couldn't allow out of his mouth. The bittersweet turn of Yata's face thrilled him and that was how he knew he was scum. 

###### 

3\. You ought to keep me concealed just like I was a weapon

It was a secret that Yata wanted to keep just as much as he wanted to scream it from the rooftops. The way Fushimi's mouth was latched to his felt deadly, pressed flush against the window in his apartment building's stairwell. 

"What's with that stupid grin, eh Misaki?" A familiar condescending smirk pulled at that beautiful mouth. 

He finally had what he wished for every birthday, eyes scrunched shut as he blew out the candles. 

A triumph like that, a boy like Fushimi, like his Saru, was something that Yata had always loved showing off, it was something that Yata wanted to selfishly keep to himself.  
"Mine," he said under his breath, smile turning devilish as he pressed it against Fushimi's lips.

###### 

4\. You know you look so Seattle but you feel so LA

It was pouring down with rain, Yata stood bedside Fushimi in the entrance to the middle school watching students more prepared than them leave the grounds. Neither of them were popular enough for anyone to be kind enough to lend them their umbrella, Yata looked up at the familiar sound of Fushimi's tongue against his teeth. 

"I guess we're just gonna have to wait it out," Yata said uselessly, Fushimi hummed in agreement. 

Yata sat on the floor, leaning his back against the shoe lockers. He watched Fushimi disappear around the corner and was about to follow the other before he heard the clunk of the vending machine, his stomach flipped a little as he heard the sound a second time. 

Fushimi returned with two cans of drink in his hands, he sat next to Yata and wordlessly passed a can to the other. Yata struggled to mumble a thank you as he cracked open the can, the rare kindness that Fushimi had shown him made his chest flutter. Then there was that hand again, offering a white ear bud to him. 

Time drew on as though that moment was endless, Yata's eyes were on the rain splattering against the glass but the only thing he could sense was the heat and weight of Fushimi leant against him. 

###### 

5\. Frame me up on your wall just to keep me out of trouble

Yata thought that his life would be a whole lot easier if he could just pin down Fushimi, chain the other to his apartment wall. Then again Fushimi was just as wild as Yata himself, holding him captive would only reap the same results as the last time he'd force Fushimi to do something he hadn't wanted to do.

He wanted something tangible to hold onto, Yata wanted something that he could actually hold, something that was concrete. He dangerously hoped, wished and longed for even a sense of permanence between them. 

It wasn't that Fushimi didn't photograph well, it was that the other seemed determined to ruin every photo he was in with his gloomy face. Yata had an empty frame and he kept it on the kitchen countertop, kept it in his domain for that miracle that would be a decent photo of Fushimi. 

Months passed and Yata's collection of grumpy faced photographs featuring Fushimi grew, but it stopped irritating him and somewhere along the line he'd grown fond of that downturned mouth printed on the shiny paper. 

A picture of the two of them that Fushimi found endlessly infuriating sat proudly in the frame upon the kitchen counter and that seemed to be all the permanence that Yata needed. 

###### 

6\. You're second hand smoke

Flames licked around Yata's body, like the boy's rage brought to life. If Yata was a fire then Fushimi was lighter fluid, thrown onto the flickering embers just to set the other off again. It clawed at Fushimi like hands on his throat, fire on his collarbone. 

An open mouth, smoke breathed into down his throat. Nails on his skin, on his collarbone. Blood bubbling up from an old wound. Not a war wound, there was no battle there, viscous words twisting from his mouth like the smoke he now sucked from the other. It was trivial but it meant the world. 

It was trivial but it destroyed the world, a world that was already cracking at the seams before he tore it apart.  
Not a war wound, not trivial. 

A crime of passion against himself, an ignorant, pathetic, spineless and spiteful crime of passion against himself. Fingers aflame on his collarbone.

_If I can't make you see, then I'll blind you._

_If I can't make you love me, then I'll consume your hate instead._

###### 

7\. I'm the best worst thing that hasn't happened to you yet

Fushimi had only pretended that he didn't know who Yata was, although Yata was the only person in their class that he did know. Then again, how could you miss a boy with hair wild like a firecracker and a voice as abrasive as sandpaper? 

It was hilarious the way Yata had reacted, indignant and naively honest. Always going that perfect peach shade of red whenever Fushimi said practically anything, it was delightful. 

The way Yata followed him around, it thrilled him. 

The other's presence thrilled him in a way that Fushimi had no experience with, heart thudding so hard sometimes that he thought he might pass out. For awhile, he had considered that he might have been having palpitations. He decided to experiment before going to the doctor about something that was most likely insignificant. 

Fushimi documented every time that his heart rate had picked up during the day, when he went to review it he was made aware of something that was quite significant to him at least. Yata was present every time and appeared to be doing something each time, something like leaning toward Fushimi or leaning over him or pushing a sweet into Fushimi's mouth. 

Instead of flushing at his revelation, Fushimi had smirked. Ideas of Yata's ruination sprawling out in his mind's eye.

###### 

8\. We're the things that love destroys

They were tired, battered and bruised. Skin and hearts marred with battle wounds, some that would never heal. 

"I'm tired Saru," Yata murmured, arms falling lifelessly at his sides. 

Fushimi dropped to his knees, he was a master of misdirection and never saying what he truly meant or felt. He dropped to his knees in front of Yata, hands reaching up to grasp at the other's shirt. Fingers digging into the fabric as he pulled Yata down into his lap, arms encircling the other's small frame. 

Yata had loved him so honestly it was almost painfully embarrassing or just simply painful, hand clutching at his chest.

Fushimi had loved Yata in the shadows, had loved the other dishonestly so much so that it had been laughably easy to convince the other of his fake hatred. 

The kiss they shared then was searing and the tears upon their skin felt like frostbite. 

###### 

9\. The bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints

Yata didn't know whether he wanted to heal that scar or darken it with his own marks, the sight of it marring that glorious marble skin always left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had learnt that time healed most things, but betrayal was a wound that ran so deep that Yata sometimes forgot how to hold them together. 

He tried to heal Fushimi's ruined skin as much as possible, dressing the open wound every day. 

Finger's would be on that skin again, though. They'd find it when Yata was crying or when Fushimi was pretending that he didn't have a heart, it took a good year for Yata to work it out but when he did the revelation would have brought him to his knees if he wasn't already laying down.

Guilt. 

It was guilt that plagued Fushimi's hand, forcing those fingers to his skin when he was reminded of the decision that he gravely regretted. 

It wasn't guilt felt for leaving HOMRA, it wasn't guilt felt for turning his back on the brothers that never felt like brothers to him. It wasn't guilt felt for joining their rival, it wasn't guilt felt from a gangland betrayal. 

It was guilt felt from destroying the only thing he held dear, the only thing that he thought of as sacred. It was the guilt of hurting the person that you loved the most. Yata realised that because he felt it too, he felt it every time that those blunt nails found that tainted skin. 

###### 

10\. Fall to your knees, bring on the rapture

Knees stained with the bright green from the grass he'd been knelt in that afternoon, hands brown from the dirt and legs shaking as he walked home. He didn't dare to mount his skateboard, didn't trust his legs enough. Yata's heart was slowing down, coming down from the high that had that stupid grin spread wide across his face. It wouldn't be there for long, the first sight of anyone that Yata remotely knew would have that ruby red crawling up his throat, embarrassment rocketing through him just like the force of Fushimi's hips against him not even an hour ago. 

###### 

11\. Like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor

Yata slipped off the bed and fell to the floor with a thud, limbs clattering against the wood. The clasp on his watch snapped open and slid out of sight, lost in the dangerously dark room. Yata bolted up, bringing his empty wrist to his face. 

"What now?" Fushimi asked leaning over the bed to look down at Yata, breath heavy, eyes dark and glasses askew. If Yata wasn't mildly distraught he would have jumped Fushimi, but as he was he ignored the other and went onto his hands and knees scrambling around the floor. "You lost something," Fushimi said as he sat back on his heels and adjusted his glasses. 

"Yeah," Yata mumbled an affirmation, palms sliding over the wood flooring. 

"Right," Fushimi stood, turned and the light switch on by the door, "this might help," he said condescendingly. "What've ya lost now?" He folded his arms over his chest and leaned  
against the wall. Yata squeaked a little startled noise as he sat up and fiddled with his fingers. 

"My watch," he said under his breath and far too quietly for Fushimi to have heard him. 

"Come again?" Fushimi said, tilting his head toward the boy sat on the floor. 

"My watch," he said louder, finally looking up at the other. 

"Wh-how?!" Fushimi said indignantly, brows arching. 

"Cause of the way you knocked me to the floor, dumbass, I smacked my wrist and the clasp came open," Yata explained, words almost running together. Fushimi sighed, holding his glasses in one hand and pinching his brow with the other. He kicked off of the wall and scanned the floor, hoping that the shining metal would catch the light and then catch his eyes. As Yata was reaching under the bed, Fushimi saw the glint of something in the corner of the room. He cleared his throat holding out the watch as Yata turned toward him. 

"Take good care of this, alright," Fushimi said as he attached the watch onto Yata's wrist, "it's one of the very few good things that I've done for you," he ran his hand through Yata's hair, pressing his lips to the other's forehead. 

###### 

12\. The stench, the stench of summer sex

Water and sand stuck to Yata's tacky skin, clung to strands of his hair. Fushimi couldn't stand the sight of him, eyes crawling over his skin as he came through the sliding doors of the beach house. 

Yata's hair was wet, Yata's skin was wet and the sand stuck to him like they way Fushimi wanted to. 

Then Yata was on the floor, Fushimi upon him, bearing down on him mouth and hands. The water on Yata's body seeped into Fushimi's open shirt, noises from Yata's throat dying on Fushimi's lips as he pressed his tongue against Yata's cheek. 

"You look like sin, the fucking symbol of temptation," Fushimi growled teeth grazing along Yata's jaw, palm flat against the other's chest. 

"Ugh, Saru," Yata whined, back arching as Fushimi's hand ran down his front, sliding over his crotch. "I hate it when you talk like that," he brought his hand to his mouth, biting down on his knuckle as the cherry blossom blush spread across his face. 

###### 

13\. She's singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears

Fushimi's back was the hardest thing to watch, memory of fingers aflame danced behind his eyelids. Yata stood there dumbstruck, body numb. He felt like a ghost, felt like he didn't exist or more likely that he didn't matter, which hurt the most. 

He was surprised that the world didn't end, or that time didn't stop. The constant moving of the Earth, the fall of the moon, the rise of the sun and then the fall of the sun and the rise of the moon and back 'round again on an infinite loop, it made Yata's stomach lurch. 

The way that everything continued whilst Yata was left behind, whilst Yata was stuck with this gaping hole in his heart. The wound that was constantly ripped open and would never heal made him feel stuck in the past, unable to move on.

###### 

14\. I'm just a problem that doesn't want to be solved

The self-satisfied smirk on that sharp mouth, the curt curl of those thin lips, those vile viscous words didn't suit that beautiful face. 

It was worse still because Yata knew that there was more to Fushimi than just the awful personality and beautiful face, there was something imprisoned deep inside the other. Something that was tentative, scared, lonely and wholly wonderful that Yata had spied enough times to count on both hands. Yata wanted and tried his hardest to encourage it, to bring it out and show Fushimi that he didn't need to be scared of showing him his true feelings. 

He tried his hardest to hold that flame close to his chest and even when it went out of control, singeing his skin, he held it closer still because Fushimi was wonderful and he'd swore to do great things with the other. Fushimi held the largest place in his heart and so he wanted to keep the other as close to it as possible. 

###### 

15\. The torture of small talk with someone you used to love

It had been years since he'd seen that stunning flame of hair. Fushimi sat stock still as he stirred his coffee staring out the window, scarf that was a moment ago keeping him warm was now suffocating him. 

Moments ago, a motorbike had noisily pulled up outside the coffee shop. The frame upon it was lithe enough that Fushimi thought it was a woman and the way shoulder length hair fell from the helmet had him mistaken still, but that face and those bright burning eyes corrected his assumption and had his heart hammering against his ribs. 

Yata, four years older, stood outside Fushimi's local haunt clad in leather that clung to him seductively as he bent to lock up his bike and made his way toward the entrance of the coffee shop. Fushimi wanted to drown himself in his tall skinny latte, instead he hid behind it drinking it down far too quickly. He coughed, choking on the still too hot liquid. 

"You alright there?" That voice, as abrasive as ever, came from beside Fushimi. A bottle of water came across the table, Fushimi gave a quiet thanks and gulped some down clearing his throat. "Ah, it's you," Yata growled with a wide smile, Fushimi looked up sliding that old smirk easily across his lips. 

"Hey, Misaki," he leaned back, elbow slung over the chair, "it's been awhile," it really had been. Boy it was awkward, painfully awkward, his words didn't have the same bite that they used to and his scowl could never be as harsh as it used to. 

"Yeah, it has," Yata took the seat across from Fushimi, without asking. 

"Yeah," Fushimi echoed, mildly irritated and unearthly flustered.

Silence awkwardly drew out between them, Yata rapped his fingers against the tabletop, looking toward the counter waiting for his order. 

"You've changed," Yata said suddenly, smile faintly on his face. 

"Uh, well yeah," Fushimi said curtly, "of course I've changed," he shrugged.

"It's good, I was afraid that you wouldn't, that you'd just stay the same and shrivel up from your own sourness," Yata said with laughter in his voice.

"Right," Fushimi levelled a gaze at Yata that would have frozen the other before, but now just made Yata laugh. 

###### 

16\. You were the song stuck in my head

The bar had a jukebox so naturally Yata insisted that they drink there, sticky tables, cardboard coasters and everything. The florescent lights buzzed over Fushimi's head as he  
ordered their drinks, eyeing Yata bouncing in front of the jukebox from the corner of his eye. 

Just as the bartender handed Fushimi their drinks, music began to blare from the speakers. He walked over to one of the booths, sidestepping and completely ignoring Yata.  
"Oh, c'mon Saru," Yata chirped, grabbing Fushimi's elbow after the other had set down the glasses. "Dontcha remember this one?" He smiled blindingly up at the other, body buzzing with the need to dance. 

Fushimi clicked his tongue, body tilting away from Yata's grasp. 

"Of course I remember it," he grumbled brows furrowed.  
"Oh yeah, where from?" Yata began to pull at Fushimi's wrists, making the other sway with him.

"The day I met you," Fushimi relented, allowing himself to sway that was all the dancing that Yata was getting out of him. 

"It's my favourite song," Yata said, eyes sparkling up at Fushimi.

"Why's that then?" Fushimi couldn't fit the small smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

"Because it reminds me of you." 

###### 

17\. And you can get what you want it's never enough

Yata's ass hit the kitchen counter, jostling the kettle and a few saucepans. His legs automatically wrapping around Fushimi's waist, drawing the other in. Bodies held flush together, lips locked. They kissed each other with a fervour, skin electric, their touches leaving tingling memories. 

Skin, teeth, tongue, hands, lips, Yata couldn't handle how much he needed Fushimi in that moment. He felt like his bones would crumble from the ferocity of his beating heart, thrumming blood through him. 

Gasping, panting, whining, moaning, groaning, he couldn't keep a single sound in his mouth. Couldn't help but sigh the other's name, saying it like a prayer and a curse wrapped up in one syllable. 

###### 

18\. I try to picture me without you but I can't

There was a tangible space left beside Fushimi, he knew the exact depth, breadth and width of it. Never mind the way something began to bloom within him from his new home and its inhabitants, that space would still be left empty. 

Haunting him, mocking him when he was at his weakest. Those rare times when he woke in a good mood, he'd bend down over the bunk expecting someone to be below him. In the heat of an attack, he look beside him for back up. Brushing his teeth, eating his dinner, shopping; it didn't matter what he was doing, where he was or who he was with. That empty space would sneak up on him and remind him that no one would ever fill it. 

###### 

19\. It might be your wound, but they're my sutures,

"Even if that fucking thing ever does heal, it's going to leave behind a dirty nasty mark," Yata grumbled kneeling in the bathroom, Fushimi sat on the toilet as Yata examined the wound. "It's gross, like really gross, it's amazing that you haven't had an infection," he shook his head as he began to clean it. 

"Well, it's the least I deserve," Fushimi mumbled, hissing at the rubbing alcohol. 

"You're a fucking dumbass," Yata spat, rubbing a little too hard. 

"Takes one to know one," Fushimi smirked petulantly. Yata sprayed the disinfectant directly onto the open wound, Fushimi made winced releasing a high pitched noise of pain. 

"You're the worst, you really are," Yata continued, lips curling over the words. "First you say all of that spiteful shit and then you go and singe your own skin, smiling like a fucking maniac. Then you scratch at it every time we meet, every time, why couldn't you just let the damn thing heal?" Yata said incredulously, brows turning upward. 

"It's close to my heart and it ached," Fushimi said skirting on the edge of raw honesty, watching Yata roll his eyes as he pulled the dressing from the first aid kit. "But mostly guilt," he added hastily. 

"Guilt?" Yata echoed, holding the pad to Fushimi's collarbone as he wrapped the bandage around it. 

"Yes, guilt," Fushimi spat the word as though it were acid. 

"About what specifically?" Yata tilted his head up at the other, eyes challenging. 

"..." Fushimi glared down at Yata, the other didn't even flinch, he sighed. "You know, everything I did to hurt you," he muttered, giving in. 

"So you felt guilty and decided to torture yourself instead of admitting it or apologising?" Yata asked, brow arched incredulously. 

"Yeah," Fushimi nodded curtly, watching the pin slide through the bandage. 

"You really are a dumbass," Yata said sitting back on his heels, Fushimi clicked his tongue. "My dumbass," Yata said fondly, pinching Fushimi's cheek.

###### 

20\. Keep making trouble 'til you find what you love

It was like when lightning hit a tree, a sudden crash as they came together. Metal upon metal, a sword clashing with a bat. Alone they were nothing to be sneezed at, but together they were a force of nature and nothing could get in their way. 

Teeth bared and smile curt, they found each other in a storm, in the snow. Lights were in the sky and Fushimi was alone, torn. 

It had been a good while since he'd really been that special kind of alone, balancing on the knife's edge. One side was something he had discarded that would always welcome him with open arms, especially that night. On the other was a place he had hardly realised that he called home, genuine comrades and a King fit for him, blue clothes and an all knowing smile. 

Snow came down and between the lights and the white, he saw that boy. The boy he'd once called home and constantly fought for the attention of, fingers tracing the outline of the mark they shared. His now ruined through whim and folly, but wounds can heal, no matter how dire, so why couldn't they?


End file.
